


where the lights are blinding (Hearts of Stone Remix)

by sebfish



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2008 Stanley Cup Final, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Remix, Remix Revival, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-10 11:36:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15948551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebfish/pseuds/sebfish
Summary: Come home with me, he says, but Sid is too wrecked from the loss to give in.So he showers quickly while Sid is distracted by the media and then waits by Sid’s car, because he’ll always wait for Sid if he needs him.Come home with me, he says again, because Sid is stubborn but so is he.





	where the lights are blinding (Hearts of Stone Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theladyscribe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theladyscribe/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Hearts of Stone](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6050119) by [theladyscribe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theladyscribe/pseuds/theladyscribe). 



> This is a remix of Hearts of Stone by theladyscribe, I love your fics but this one stood out to me so I hope I did it justice. Some of the dialogue may look familiar since it was borrowed from that story. 
> 
> If you got here by googling yourself or someone you know, please click away. 
> 
> The werewolf canon here is a mishmash of different canons, though it's probably mostly influenced by the plethora of Teen Wolf fic I've read and Linsky's wolf!verse. The important part is that they can change at will and pack/family bonds are important. 
> 
> Unbetad, and the title is from "Something Wild" by Lindsey Stirling and Andrew McMahon.

When Zhenya first got to Pittsburgh, Sid was everything and nothing he’d expected. He was every inch the savior of hockey Zhenya expected, fast and good and not afraid to say what he thought, even if Zhenya didn’t understand most of what he was saying. It was all hockey, anyway, and he got the gist of it well enough.

But nobody told him that Sid would get like this sometimes, a little bit wild like he was two steps from shaking out of his skin or fighting everyone on the other bench.

Sid reminded him of a cat, like this, like the feral cats he used to see wandering around the city where he grew up; a little wild and too wary to get close, but hanging out just on the edges like they wanted to be.

There was a cat that used to hang out by the rink, sometimes, skinny and wary, that he would’ve taken home if they’d had the space and his parents had allowed it. He used to sit outside after practice and talk to the cat, sometimes, hold out a hand and try to coax it closer.

The cat had come up to him, once in a while, close enough to pet, even if it only let him pet it for a little bit before it skittered away again. But it had waited there, every day, even if it only let itself get close a few times.

Sid was like that when he first got to Pittsburgh, leaning into touches like he needed them but pulling away like he was afraid of getting too close. He’s better about it now, because he knows that Zhenya doesn’t mind, but sometimes Zhenya can tell that he needs it even when he’s pulling away.

Zhenya takes him home, sometimes, when he gets like that now. Sid would rather force himself through the whole season than admit that he needed contact, because he needed pack and pack bonds and a hockey team was almost close enough to count but not quite enough and sometimes he just needed skin contact to settle him.

It’s easier to get him to agree when it’s just hooking up and it’s better too when he can get Sid out of his own head after a loss, distract him with an orgasm and skin contact and a better night of sleep.

It’s not like it’s unselfish, anyway.

It’s not the stupidest thing he’s ever done, but it’s close to it, the way he watches Sid a little too closely for teammates and the way Sid pretends he isn’t watching back.

 

_/ \\_ **·** _/ \\_

 

His English was terrible when they started, the whirl of incomprehensible English swirling around him in the locker room and almost overwhelming. He’s had two seasons in the NHL now and it’s a little bit easier, the flow of sound around him making more sense the longer that he’s here. It helps when it’s mostly hockey, anyway, because some of that is the same no matter what language it’s in.

Sid was a rock to plant himself on when he first got here, steady and stable and friendly with his crooked smiles and the way it didn’t matter if Zhenya understood what he was saying because he was talking hockey half the time anyway and it was easy enough to guess.

It was easy enough to fall into this together, because even if his English was shit he still understood enough to know that Sid was offering to help him get off, and some things were just universal.

He still remembers the way Sid had looked when Zhenya got his hand on his dick the first time, the way he flushed and sighed and arched up into it and the soft sounds he made when he came. He’s made Sid come a few more ways since then, with his hand and his mouth and his dick, but that memory is still one of his favorites.

Sid has always been a cuddler, even before Zhenya knew his true nature, and he’s not sure if that makes it worse or better. He should’ve known, maybe, from the way Sid always needed to be touched, but he knows now and that’s all that matters.

He’s not stupid enough to think that it’s something that could last, but sometimes when he’s got Sid wrapped around him, after, he thinks that it could.

 

_/ \\_ **·** _/ \\_

 

They lose, despite everything, because it’s not quite enough.

He already knows that Sid is going to be blaming himself. There’s nothing he could’ve done, any more than the rest of them should have.

Sid looks lost, a little bit, when they get back to the dressing room, in the quiet space before the media gets there. They’re all a little lost, but Sid carries it heavier than anyone else.

 _Come home with me_ , he says, but Sid is too wrecked from the loss to give in.

So he showers quickly while Sid is distracted by the media and then waits by Sid’s car, because he’ll always wait for Sid if he needs him.

 _Come home with me_ , he says again, because Sid is stubborn but so is he.

 

_/ \\_ **·** _/ \\_

 

He’d been here a year the first time he saw Sidney shift, a sleek ripple from skin to glossy dark fur during an afternoon cookout at Mario Lemieux’s house. Sid was playing with the kids, as he usually was, and then he was suddenly four-legged and furry, nosing at them and chasing them around.

Zhenya had stopped, fascinated and staring, unable to gather his thoughts enough to move along.

Weres weren’t unheard of, of course, but changing was something private, for family, and seeing a few of his cousins change at family gatherings wasn’t the same. This was a team event, and maybe team was close enough to count, but it wasn’t anything he’d thought he’d see here.

Seryozha was the one who jostled him out of his thoughts, finally, nudging him.

“He’s good with kids,” he’d said, eyeing him thoughtfully.

“Yes,” Zhenya had said. “I can see that.” Sid was playing with someone’s toddler now, nudging her gently as she ran around him with delighted shrieks.

“He doesn’t get any trouble from the team?” he’d asked, finally.

“No,” Seryozha had said, draining his beer. “They’re good to him here.”

 

_/ \\_ **·** _/ \\_

 

He gets home before Sid, and maybe it’s better that way because it gives him a chance to regroup first. It’s not like he’s lying, to say that he doesn’t want to be alone, but maybe it’s not the whole of it.

If it was anyone else, maybe, but it’s Sid and that’s more important.

There’s nothing much in his kitchen because he’s been busy with playoffs, but he’s got eggs and cheese and some vegetables that he’s been meaning to do something with and that’s good enough. There are a few of his mama’s pelmeni left in the freezer from the last time she visited, but he’s too tired to enjoy them now.

Sid shows up then, looking wary and weary and worn out, and a little bit like he might run away.  

“I’m not hungry,” he says, frowning.

Zhenya pushes a block of cheese in his hands, anyway, because it’s good for him to be busy.

They don’t talk much, and it’s comfortable like this, quiet in Zhenya’s kitchen with soft sizzle of the pan. He puts water on to boil and busies himself with the teapot, relaxing into the routine of measuring out the leaves and pouring hot water on top. It’s an herbal blend with mint and chamomile, and it’s a nice way to relax before bed.

He pours two mugs of tea once it’s done, and adds a spoonful of sugar to Sid’s because he’ll never ask for it but he likes it better that way.

He brings the mugs over to the kitchen table where Sid is laying down two plates of omelet, and nudges him gently as he sits down.

They eat quickly and quietly and it’s nice, even if Sid still looks a little bit like he’s about to run.

 

_/ \\_ **·** _/ \\_

 

The last time they’d hooked up, they’d been bright with excitement after beating Philadelphia, jittery with the excitement of winning the Prince of Wales trophy and going to the finals for the first time.

Sid had found him in the locker room, after, when everyone was buzzing and excited.

“Your place?” he’d said in an undertone, eyes heated.

They hadn’t done anything since playoff started because Sid didn’t want to risk anything, but Zhenya was helpless to do anything but agree.

Zhenya had sucked him off that night, on his knees in the foyer with Sid pressed up against the wall, and Sid had been almost wild with it by the time he finished.

He’d taken Sid upstairs then and took him apart, opening him up so slowly that he was hard again and almost begging by the time he’d gotten him ready. It wasn’t something they’d done much at all, but it felt right that night, to open Sid up and push inside him and claim him like that.

It felt like something he needed, maybe as much as Sid, to be wrapped around him afterward, sweaty and too warm and blissful with the press of skin.

 _We could win_ , he’d thought then, and he hadn’t said anything for fear of jinxing it, but maybe just thinking it was too much.

 

_/ \\_ **·** _/ \\_

 

“Not sex, just sleep?”

Sid looks like he’s about to protest, but he wilts a little bit instead. “Okay.”

Zhenya gets as far as the bed before Sid speaks up again.

“Um,” Sid says, not quite meeting his eyes. “Do you mind if I, y’know, shift?”

“Not mind,” Zhenya says, and Sid’s still standing there awkwardly so he escapes into the bathroom to give him privacy.

Sid’s shifted by the time he’s done getting ready for bed, lurking hopefully by the side of the bed, ears flat and dejected. Zhenya strips and climbs under the covers, helpfully holding back a corner of the blanket for Sid. He hesitates for only a moment before jumping up on the bed, circling once before dropping down to curve himself into a tight circle, nose tucked into his tail.

Zhenya puts a hand on him, cautiously, then scoots in closer when Sid relaxes by degrees. He’s beautiful like this, a huge dark wolf that still somehow looks like Sid, through his eyes or his expression or something else that just says that it’s him.

He’s seen Sid like this before, but not like this, in Zhenya’s house like he belongs here. He doesn’t know if Sid would still be here if they’d won, but he can hope.

“We’re lose tonight,” he says, and Sid huffs out a noise.

There’s so much he wants to say, but he’s tired and not sure if his English is up to the task. Sid’s made it clear that he’s not in the mood to talk, anyway.

“I’m never want lose like that again,” he says, finally, and wraps himself fully around Sid.

He lets himself sink into it, the quiet of the house and the soft whuffs of Sid’s breathing as he settles off to sleep and the steady rise and fall of his chest.

“We’re win next time,” he says, softly, once he’s almost sure that Sid’s asleep.

It doesn’t feel like jinxing it, this time.  

 

_/ \\_ **·** _/ \\_

 

Sid is human again when he wakes, warm naked skin pressed against his, and if it was any other morning he’d take advantage of it.

But he’s tired and heartbroken and it’s easier to just tug Sid closer and bury his face in the curls at the nape of his neck.

They get up, eventually, because there’s media and cleanout and everything else that needs to happen.

Sid is quiet as he fishes some bread out of the freezer to make toast and cooks up the rest of the eggs. He’s quiet, but more settled somehow, with less of the wild edge he had last night.

Zhenya likes him like this: sleepy and a little bit rumpled, redressed in yesterday’s clothes, sitting in Zhenya’s kitchen like he belongs there.

“I’m going to go back to Mario’s first,” Sid says over bites of egg and toast.

“Okay,” Zhenya says. They finish breakfast in silence, but it’s peaceful. Once they’re done, Zhenya gathers up the plates before Sid can protest and sets the dishes in the sink for later.

He follows Sid out to the foyer, waits patiently while Sid makes sure he has everything he came with.

Sid stops in front of the door, and turns to face him. “You’re right,” he says, “we’re going to win it next time.”

He’s still tired and worn from the loss, but he’s steadier now like he believes it, or maybe like he wants to believe it.   

“Yes,” Zhenya says, because even if it’s not next time he knows this: that he and Sid are here together and they can do it. Maybe not this year, maybe not even next year, but some day.

Someday it’ll be him and Sid together with the Cup, and maybe they’ll both lift it together.

“We will,” Zhenya says, and Sid leans in and kisses him like a promise.   


End file.
